Four hours later …

Omg! For months now, every time I’ve ventured into my spice cupboard I’d say to myself, “Fransi, you really have to go through this stuff.” Well, I finally chose last weekend to do it. I’m thrilled with the outcome, but what a time-consuming chore that turned out to be! Omg.

I know, I know, you’re probably sitting there saying, “spice cupboard???? How many spices could she (meaning me) possibly have?????” Well, how about an entire standard kitchen cabinet (3 fairly wide shelves)?

What can I say, I like to cook and I like to try different things. The problem is, as I’ve recently discovered,

Better than I could ever have imagined …

What a difference a week makes.  Last Tuesday I was moaning about having too much ‘stuff’; and how I had to start getting rid of it.  Well you wouldn’t believe the progress I’ve made.  So much so, I simply have to blog about it again, today.

Sorry.

Can’t say I blame you if you’ve had enough of this, particular topic, but I’m just having so much fun I can’t help myself.  So please, indulge me.  God knows if or when I’ll ever feel like this again.

Yes, I did say “fun”.  I know, “fun” is not usually a word one would associate with cleaning out drawers, closets, desks etc.  Unless you’re one of those neat freaks, which I am, most assuredly, not.  But for some, inexplicable reason, I’m enjoying myself — despite the sore back it’s giving me.

It’s wonderful to see all those bags piled up, ready to go — to the garbage, to recycling, to the shredder, to whoever wants it.  There’s more of ’em every day; and I must say, I am getting a tremendous sense of

I wouldn’t exactly call myself a hoarder …

… but I do admit I hang on to too much ‘stuff’.  I don’t know why really, because my mother wasn’t like that at all.  She was ruthless about getting rid of anything and everything she no longer needed, wanted or used.  Or fit into, for that matter.

Maybe this is nothing more than an act of rebellion on my part.  I’ve never thought of it in quite that way before.  Or maybe I just take after my father.  My mother used to crack the whip on both of us.

My closets and drawers are not a thing of organized beauty.  Neither is my desk.  Or my bookcase.  Or just about any surface you can find in my apartment.  My handbag’s the same.  A royal mess.  I can never find anything in there,